


Reparation and Redress

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Ending, Community: smutty_claus, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Spanking, inappropriate use of Ministry resources, officeporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-04
Updated: 2006-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently, Harry's got something Pansy wants - in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reparation and Redress

**Author's Note:**

> Written for smutty_claus 2005, which makes it pre- _Deathly Hallows_ and therefore tagged Alternate Ending.

Harry slumped behind his desk, twirling his wand on his fingertips. They were damned lucky he'd come to work at all, he told himself. It would have been better for everyone if they'd just suspended him for a few weeks and let the whole situation blow over. Instead, here he was, stuck behind a desk doing paperwork for some lucky bastard who'd gone off to Torremolinos on holiday.

"Mr. Potter!" A bright cheerful voice rang out from the voice-portal on the wall. "Your ten o'clock is here. I'll bring her back."

"Great," Harry muttered. Another ancient witch complaining about War damage to her property, demanding that the Ministry compensate her. Harry opened the lowest desk drawer and dug deep, searching for an unwrinkled copy of the claim form. The older folks left more quickly if Harry interviewed them and filled in the forms himself.

"Here you go, dear," chirped Daisy Snodgrass, the unit's receptionist. "Mr. Potter will take care of your problems, you can be sure." Harry heard Daisy's shoes tap back down the hall as he raised his head to greet his client.

"Potter? I had an appointment with Mr. Mickels. Where is he?" Pansy Parkinson stood in the doorway, arms crossed and frown firmly planted on her face. "This isn't an Auror trap, is it?"

"No, no," Harry said. "They're short-staffed. I'm helping out." He waved at the client chair.

Pansy sat carefully on the edge of the chair, her expression doubtful. "Why would the Boy Who Lived be filing claims in the Ministry basement, Potter?"

"Er." Harry fought the blush flooding up from underneath his collar. "It's a temporary assignment. Are you filing a claim, Parkinson?"

"Yes," she said, pulling a thick folder from her shoulderbag. "I've been working with Mr. Mickels for a few months, trying to settle my parents' estate. This may be the last of it."

Harry thought quickly while Pansy paged through her portfolio. Her parents had been killed before the final battle, in a Ministry raid somewhere in Kent. Not Marked but might as well have been, if he remembered correctly. "Sorry about your family, Parkinson."

She looked at him, eyes carefully blank. "I'm sure." She pushed two pieces of parchment across the desk to him. "These are the final claims: receipts for items taken from our home in November of last year. The items haven't been returned, so they're still in Ministry custody."

"That ought to be easy enough," Harry said as he scanned the documents. Both were handwritten receipts on Ministry notepaper; one was for a portable Pensieve and the other for a personal journal. "These aren't the usual receipt forms, though."

"I know," Pansy said. "But they're signed by the Auror who took the things. Just ask him."

"Gerald Baskins? He was killed a few months ago."

"Surely there's a record? Mr. Mickels was able to find everything else. I would have claimed these earlier but I just found them the other day." She tapped her fingers on his desk, brow furrowed.

Harry wondered what Parkinson's problem was. Probably nothing - just being Pansy. "What's in the Pensieve, Parkinson? Or the journal? Why'd we take them in the first place?"

"I don't know," she snapped. "They were my grandmother's. She died long before any of this stupid War nonsense started, and there's no reason for an Auror to take her personal things. I want them back, Potter."

"All right, Parkinson. Calm down." Harry frowned at the papers again, smoothing them against the desktop. "Give me a week. I'll owl you."

"No. Today."

Harry remembered that stubborn set of her jaw, and the flashing eyes that went with it. They might both have gotten a bit older, but his hackles rose just as they had in school. "Can't do it today, Parkinson. I'm so terribly busy, you see."

She leaned back in her chair, smirking at him. "It must be horrid for you, Potter, a war hero reduced to stamping papers and filing forms. What happened? Did you kill the Minister's puppy?"

"No. Go away, Parkinson. A week."

"Tell me, Potter. Where's Mr. Mickels? Why is Saint Potter about to dig through dusty storerooms to find my dear grandmother's diary, instead of some ancient clerk marking time until he retires?" Her eyes danced with malice.

"Shut it, Parkinson," Harry said, swallowing the anger starting to build in his chest. "It's none of your business. Just go."

"Or what? You'll lose my paperwork?"

Harry leaned across the desk and held her gaze. "Or you'll get the fight you're trying to provoke."

Pansy laughed softly. "As if it were a challenge, Potter. You've always been far too easy to goad."

"Parkinson, I'm asking nicely. One week." Harry stood to conclude the interview, stepping around the desk to hold the door open.

Pansy crossed her bare legs, long and sleek under the loose summer skirt. "Today, Potter. Call your little drones downstairs in storage and tell them to get me my things, and then I'll leave you to molder in peace."

Harry's knuckles whitened on his wand as he gripped it tightly, though his voice was mild. "You want to know why I'm down here, Parkinson? I have a bit of a temper. Shoved my superior officer against the wall at wandpoint when he wouldn't stop telling me what to do."

She arched one eyebrow and Harry thought for a moment of Snape, now retired to Norway, and Malfoy, long dead. He wondered if they had all practiced together in the Slytherin common room. "And you are sharing this amusing tidbit of information for what reason?"

"Because I'm about to throw you out of here, Parkinson. You're behaving like a spoilt princess, and I am not your personal house elf to be ordered about."

Pansy laughed again, tilting her face up to him. "I _am_ a spoilt princess, Potter. You should know that by now."

 _Enough_ , Harry thought, closing the door firmly. As the latch snapped home with a deliberate click, he cast a locking spell. After a moment's thought, he cast another quick series of charms: silencing, warding, another layer of locks.

"What are you doing?" Pansy sat upright while he cast. A concerned look flashed across her face before she resettled it into the smug mask she usually wore. "I thought you were going to toss me out."

"Changed my mind," Harry said. "I suddenly feel like helping you, Parkinson, though I'm sure I don't know why." He moved swiftly, grasping her upper arms and lifting her out of the chair. She was surprised enough to go along with it, not thinking to struggle until he'd sat in her chair and pulled her down across his lap.

"Potter! What the hell are you doing? I could get you sacked for this!" She struggled wildly as Harry caught her wrists in his left hand, pulling her arms snugly up along her spine.

"Parkinson. _Pansy_." Harry chuckled as he hooked her left ankle with his right foot, holding her leg still. If she kicked out with her right leg, it wouldn't damage anything but the desk, and Harry couldn't be arsed to care about Mickels's desk. "If they didn't sack me for threatening Mad-Eye Moody with the Cruciatus, what makes you think they'll sack me for giving a spoilt Death Eater girl what she deserves?"

"I am not a Death Eater!" Pansy's screech was tinged with real worry as she tried to break Harry's grip.

"Of course not," Harry said agreeably. "You'd never take the Mark. It's disfiguring. Quit wiggling."

"Potter," Pansy said with desperation, "what are you doing?"

"I told you. I'm giving you what you deserve." Harry grinned, raised his right hand, and smacked her arse. Pansy yelped and struggled against him, so he smacked her again.

"Harry Potter, get your filthy half-blood hands off me!"

"No." Harry started to spank Pansy in a steady rhythm, alternating sides. Her filmy skirt was sprinkled with roses, and Harry amused himself by aiming for a different rose with each stroke. "I've wanted to do this for years. It was actually Snape's idea, can you imagine?"

Pansy's struggles had quieted a bit, but at Snape's name, her head turned and she tried to look up at him. "Professor Snape would never -"

"Oh, no. Of course not. But he thought you needed it. I heard him talking to Professor McGonagall once about paddling. Said that certain students needed to have their attention caught in unusual ways, Parkinson being one of them." He had stopped spanking her while he talked, letting his fingers trace the roses on her bum in an almost-caress. "I wonder how he knew that."

She dropped her head again, muttering into the wool of his trouser-leg.

"What was that?"

Pansy raised her head again, glaring at him. "He caught me and Flint, all right?"

Harry chuckled and began to spank her again. His strokes were sharper and faster now, no longer strictly alternating sides. Pansy cried out softly, but stopped struggling against him. "So you might actually like this?" Harry's voice was as soft as the touches he smoothed across her skirt.

" _Damn_ you, Potter," she said hoarsely. Her fingers trembled, still captured behind her back.

"Tell me, Pansy." He trailed his fingers along the hem of her skirt, lying ruffled and loose along her thighs. He could sense the moment when she gave in, her body sagging and relaxing against his legs.

"Yes," she murmured. "I like it."

"Me too," he said, raising her skirt slowly, piling the fabric at her waist in a softly-ruched pile. She was so fair, though her skin was pink where he'd spanked. Lacy knickers with a slender thong-back bisected her arse, the thin strip snuggling into the shadowy cleft between her legs. Harry held his breath for a moment, running his palm over her. "Do you want me to stop?"

She tensed for a moment, then relaxed again. "No."

"Tell me," he said again.

"Sodding Gryffindor," she said, only a trace of habitual snideness in her voice. "Spank me, all right? And don't think I'm some delicate flower like your little Granger. I can take it, Potter."

"We'll see about that," Harry said, and brought his hand down firmly on her arse. He showered her with brisk spanks, hitting every quadrant on each side, watching her skin turn cherry-pink with some deeper red spots where he'd gotten her more often. As he worked, Pansy wriggled against him, whimpering when he landed particularly hard shots or revisited a tender area. Though Harry's arm was tiring a bit, he kept going; Pansy had started to arch her back, tilting her hips to present her arse to his hand, anticipating each new slap with growing eagerness.

Eventually, the sting in his hand made him slow, then stop. He rubbed her tender skin idly as she panted against his leg, caressing the fiery marks and tugging the waistband of her knickers back into place. As the fabric pulled between her legs, Pansy made a tiny sound, quickly muffled.

"What was that, Parkinson?" Harry let her wrists go and reached for her chin, pulling her face where he could see it. "You say something?"

"No," she said, eyes flashing.

"Sure of that?" Harry slid one finger along the crease at the top of her thigh, barely skimming her knickers, and up along the strap to the waistband. "There," he said softly, "you said it again."

Pansy let her arms drop to the floor, wrapping her hands around Harry's ankle. "Don't, Potter. Just - don't make me beg."

Harry considered that for a moment. He slid his fingers through Pansy's hair, then resettled her higher up on his lap and pulled her ankle back further with his foot. He stroked her with long, deliberate movements until she relaxed again. When she was soft and pliant against him, he walked his fingers up her inner thighs, pushing her legs open just a bit. "I'll stop if you want me to."

Pansy acquiesced silently, letting her legs fall apart at his touch.

"I'm not much for taking what's not on offer," Harry said, lightly touching the fabric of her knickers. Pansy pushed back a bit, making those soft noises again, and Harry chuckled. He slipped his fingers under the elastic and stroked her lightly, then pushed in just a bit. She was liquid under his fingers, slick wet heat everywhere he probed. "You weren't joking about liking it, Pansy."

She whined, rocking her hips to find his fingers. Harry smiled as he touched her, sliding down along the swollen folds, feeling her jump when he slipped his fingers across the hard nub. He anchored her more firmly with his left arm as his right hand began to make small circles on her clit as she writhed against him. Once he had a steady pace established, he slipped his thumb inside her as he rubbed, letting it stroke in and out while his fingers moved.

Pansy's grip on his ankle tightened, and he could hear quiet whimpers and disconnected words rising from near the floor. He smoothed her hair, tracing the shell of her ear. "All right?"

She nodded against him. "Faster...." Her voice trailed away as he picked up the pace. She bucked against him, riding his hand, her cries growing steadier as his touch intensified. "Yes - like that - God, Potter, _just like that_ -"

Harry felt her tip over the edge, the spasms of her orgasm spreading through his fingers and her jerking hips. It felt as if each wave was a tiny squeeze to his cock, trapped hard and aching under her. He slowed his hand in time with her breathing, until she was still and quiet across his lap. He wondered when the screaming would start, and where he'd go when he lost his Ministry appointment for certain. Lost in his musing, he forgot to pay attention to Pansy until she squirmed off his lap, knickers still pushed down around her knees, and perched on the edge of the desk.

"Well?"

Harry blinked. "Sorry, didn't hear you. Well, what?"

She rolled her eyes. "Typical. I asked if there was anything I could do for you, Potter."

He stared at her.

" _Merlin_ , Potter." Pansy started to frown, then gave in to a rather appealing fit of giggles. Harry found himself smiling along with her. "I thought you'd be used to girls throwing themselves at you. Bloody hero and all that."

"Er, not really," Harry admitted. "I mean, I stay with my mates mostly. The Ginny thing didn't work out so well, and then there was the War, and...well, no. Not used to it."

Pansy smiled at him, no malice that he could see, and Harry felt his cock jump a bit at the twinkle in her eyes. "Right," she said. "Let's try this again." She caught her knickers with the heel of her shoe and pulled them off, then held out her hand.

Harry stood, somewhat confused, and threaded his fingers into hers.

"Honestly, Potter." She smiled again, drawing him near, and leaned in to kiss him. Her hands worked busily at his buckle and buttons while she slid her tongue across his. When she shoved his trousers and pants down his hips and wrapped her hand around his shaft, Harry jumped.

"Is this - are you sure, Pansy?"

She rested her forehead against his, stroking him slowly, as she wrapped her legs around his waist and laughed. "You're acting like a Hufflepuff, Potter. What happened to brave and foolhardy?"

Harry thought about this, as much as he could think about anything while kissing a pretty pantsless girl who had her hand on his cock and her thighs resting on his hips, then gave up the attempt at coherence and pulled her into his arms. It had been a while since anyone had kissed Harry with this level of enthusiasm, even Ginny. Pansy gave as good as she got, nibbling his lips and wriggling delightfully in his arms as he kissed her cheekbone and nipped her earlobe. Harry was enjoying himself more than anyone had a right to do at work, but Pansy's hand wouldn't stop moving on his cock, and he'd been near the edge since he'd had his hand on her arse anyway.

He groaned at one particularly swirling stroke. Pansy broke their kiss and pulled back a bit. "All right?"

Harry smiled at her, a bit ruefully. "Kind of close. It's been a while."

She nodded. "Me too. Come on, then." She scooted a bit closer to the edge of the desk, wrapped her legs more securely around him, and pulled her hand free. Harry felt himself being surrounded by wet heat as he pushed slowly into her, encouraged by her soft whimpers. Once he was fully in, he lowered her carefully to the desk on top of her own paperwork. Changing his stance a bit to get a steadier base, he began to thrust.

Pansy's fingernails scratched across his back as he moved. She crossed her legs behind him, pulling him in with each stroke. Harry braced his hands firmly on the desk, trying to pretend this was just a fantasy to keep himself from coming too soon, but that didn't work too well.

"Going to -"

"It's all right, Potter. Let it go." She pulled his head down and kissed him, her tongue lingering on his lips as he sped up, driving deeper into her as he felt the coiled heat in his abdomen start to unwind. He wrenched his mouth off hers - too much sensation - and buried his face in her shoulder as his orgasm crashed over him. Pansy held him close until he stopped shaking, stroking his hair.

Harry lifted his head, a blush racing across his cheeks. "Sorry. Kind of fast."

"You're at _work_ , Potter. It's meant to be quick. On the taxpayer's time, and all that." She arched her eyebrow again, and Harry couldn't help laughing.

"You're a taxpayer, Parkinson."

"So I am." She pushed him away, and he slid out of her as he moved back. " _Accio_ wand." Her wand flew out of her shoulderbag into her hand. She cast cleaning spells on herself and Harry, then hopped off the desk and pulled her skirt down.

Harry hurriedly tucked himself back into his trousers and fastened his belt. As he dispelled the wards on the door, he heard Daisy coming down the hall chattering to someone. "Bollocks! I've got a client."

"I still want my possessions, Potter." Pansy picked up her knickers and shoulderbag, then opened the door. She paused on the threshold.

Harry sat back behind the desk, gathering the papers she'd brought. "One week, Parkinson."

"Three days. That's a Saturday. You can take me to dinner." She grinned and tossed her knickers at him. "Then you can return my things. Who knows? I may even find more Ministry receipts."

Harry's hand flew up in automatic reaction and plucked the lacy scrap out of the air as Pansy went down the hall. He quickly opened a drawer and dropped the knickers inside, smiling, as Daisy ushered a wizened old man into the room.

"Mr. Crisp is here for you, Mr. Potter."

"Now, young man, see here! War or no, a man deserves compensation when his aubergine crop is trampled in a battle. I have been growing aubergines in Sussex since 1952, and I refuse to permit wizards, whether they be Dark or Light, to interfere with my work!"

Harry half-listened to the old wizard as he filled in the blanks on the claim form. _I have a date with Pansy Parkinson. How odd._ He grinned to himself, suddenly wishing Mickels a very pleasant holiday indeed and hoping he felt no need to rush back to work. After all, Harry was being punished. Surely, solving the Parkinson estate problems was suitable penance; Moody might even make him stay down here until the entire case was resolved and every last claim for reparation was answered. Harry crossed his fingers under the desk, hoping his luck would hold.


End file.
